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Old Home Day 
in Plunket 





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Ward Macauley 



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923 Arch Street, Philadelphia 



Old Home Day in Plunket 



A Humorous Entertainment in One Scene 



BY 



WARD MACAULEY 

Author of " GRADUATION DAY AT WOOD HILL 

SCHOOL," "BACK TO THE COUNTRY 

STORE." etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1910 






COPYRIGHT I 9 IO BY THE PBNN PUBLISHING COMPANY 



Old Home Day in Plunket 

CCLD 22568 







Old Home Day in Plunket 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Hiram Greene The president of the village 

Mr. Joshua Jones . . . . A successful city merchant 

Mr. U. B. Rich A promoter 

Reuben Oldchuck An oldest inhabitant 

Billy A village cut-up 

Jack Black An artful dodger 

Si Hopp . . . Leader of the Plunket hivincible Quartet 

Ira Bobberkin Director of the band 

Bertie Blow An unfortunate musician 

L J T I . . Known as the Great Partling Team 

Emma Jones j 6 

Mr. Frank Lee Slowe .... Who prefers Plunket 

Mr. Ira Swatt A famous ball player 

Miss Angelina Appleby . . . Town poet, a genius {she 

admits it herself) 

Miss Everett Wright A reformer 

Miss Jennie Smith . . . Unmarried, but not by choice 

Miss Frances Speaker True to her name 

Mr. Willie Boyd 1 A bride and groom, with emphasis o?i 

Mrs. Willie Boyd } the bride 

Mrs. Lizzie Schlintzman . . Who got off the train by 

mistake 

A Young Lady. 

A Village Band. A Village Quartet. Villagers. 



Time in Representation : — One hour and a quarter. 



GENERAL DIRECTIONS, COSTUMES, ETC. 

The village of Plunket decides to hold an Old Home Day, 
and numerous former residents come from various places 
to join in the festivities. The platform and the front of the 
auditorium should represent the village gaily decorated for the 
occasion. A large flag and bunting should be draped over 
a rudely painted sign " Welcum Home to Plunket, M at the 
rear of the platform. Barrels, boxes, crates, etc., should be 
properly distributed upon the stage. 

" Old Home Day in Plunket " can be made a very ef- 
fective entertainment if due care is given to details. As 
there are many characters and nearly all on the scene from 
start to finish, considerable clever by-play can be indulged 
in by others than the characters speaking at the time. It is 
well to have a good-sized platform, and in many cases it may 
prove advisable to use part of the front of the auditorium as 
well. The Plunketers should be uniformly dressed in pro- 
nounced country style. Hiram Greene should be in over- 
alls, with visible suspenders and he should wear a large 
straw hat. He should be chewing constantly. His general 
conduct should be rural simplicity and innocence. The 
visitors should dress appropriately to their various parts ; 
Mrs. Schlintzman to look very poor and very old-fashioned ; 
Jennie Smith in bright and gaudy but not flashy attire; 
U. B. Rich in shabby genteel style. Mr. Slowe should 
wear trousers too short for him, also sleeves failing to en- 
tirely conceal his wrists. A queer hat will add to the part. 
Joshua Jones should wear a Prince Albert coat and a silk 
hat. Miss Appleby should not appear too prosperous. 
Reuben Oldchuck is an old man "practically ninety" and 
should be very bent and speak in a high rasping tone. He 
should carry a cane. Ira Swatt should wear a loud suit and 
startling necktie. The bride and groom should be attired 
in their Sunday best. 

It is important that each person make a very careful study 
of the part assigned and carry out the idea of the character 
in all the by-play as well as when actually speaking. Local 
hits and allusions to persons known to the audience should be 
worked in as much as possible. A few of these are indicated 
in the text, but others can easily be added. 



GENERAL DIRECTIONS 5 

The parade must be carefully rehearsed and each char- 
acter drilled to work in as many antics as possible. The 
band should consist of four pieces, using dummy instru- 
ments. In each, if possible, place a " kazoo M or similar 
contrivance and hum the tune desired. If musicians who 
can burlesque well are obtainable, genuine instruments may 
be used. The band and quartet should drill with great 
care. 

The Partling Team do a vaudeville stunt, the man repre- 
senting an English dude and the woman a pert Irish girl. 
The dude should wear a frock coat, silk hat and monocle. 
Any other suitable sketch may be substituted for the one 
given. The publishers will make suggestions for this upon 
request. 

The girl who is auctioned off from among the audience 
should not be named in the program, so that her selection 
may be an entire surprise. 

The "Bob, the Artful Dodger " game can easily be made 
a big feature. Get a blackboard frame and remove the 
board. Cover with cloth or stiff paper, cutting a hole in the 
centre slightly larger than a man's head. The balls should 
be made of soft rags loosely tied, so that there can be no 
possible chance of injury. 

The piece calls for farcical treatment, and with a few ex- 
ceptions the parts do not make great demands on those 
assigned to them. 



PROPERTIES 

Careful attention should be given the properties and a 
list made of articles required. There is nothing necessary 
that should prove at ail difficult to obtain, but every effort 
should be made to have everything called for by the text 
ready at the proper time. 

For Hiram Greene, paper, small coin, old note-book. 

For Ira Bobberkin, a bunch of keys, small branch of 
tree, long-haired wig, carrot, old purse. 

For the band, instruments, and boxes to stand on. 

For Si Hopp, a small bottle. 

For U. B. Rich, map, rolled up. 

For Billy, large bottle, with wide mouth, box, ice-cream 
freezer, spoon. 

For Jones, wig and high hat. 

For Jack Black, blackboard frame covered with canvas 
or stiff paper, with hole for head, rag balls. 

For Jennie Smith, large corn plaster. 

For Frank Lee Slowe, bag of pop-corn. 



Old Home Day in Plunket 



{Enter the band, playing " Auld Lang Syne. 1 * The char- 
acters [all except Mrs. Schlintzman and Billy] and 
villagers follow in suitable order for parade a?id march 
around the auditorium, singing.) 

All : Shall dear old Plunket be forgot 

By those who've gone away? 
No ! Plunket's home and it is not 
Forgot on Old Home Day. 

Chorus : For my old home and your old home, 
Though we've been far away, 
To us are dear, and so we're here — 
For Plunket's Old Home Day. 

{Repeat stanza and chorus.) 

{After the parade the characters and villagers dispose them- 
selves suitably on the platform and the exercises open with 
the village president 's address.) 

Hon. Hiram Greene. Fellow Plunketers, both ladies 
and men, 1 am praoud to stand before you on this most sus- 
picious occasion, and praoud to hold the position that 1 do, 
granted me by your votes by a great big majority at the 
last 'lection. To you who've left dear old Plunket to seek 
fortunes in wider but not more pleasant fields, I extend 
greeting. I can only say to you, you don't know what 
you've missed. We've had an awful good time back here 
in Plunket, hain't we, friends? {Approving nods and 
shouts, " Yes, 11 " You bet, 11 etc.) Mebbe things ain't been 
as excitin' here as in New York {or name place where enter- 
tainment is given), but we've had some pretty warm 'lections 
occasionally, except last year when I had an overwhelmin' 
major'ty. We've had some great ball games, an' we come 

7 



8 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

near having a bad burglary. At the last minit the burglars 
decided to try Sand Springs, six miles east o' here, if any 
of you don't remember. And now we've got one ottymobeel 
in the village. It was owned just outside the village, but 
by special 'nactment of our honorable leg'slature, we 
'stended the village limits. Now Plunket has growed too. 
When Josh Jones left here, we only had — how many 
'habitants did we have, Josh? 

Mr. Joshua Jones. Hundred and seventy-nine. 

Greene {proudly). And that was only twenty years 
ago, and now we've got a hundred an' ninety-one. I have 
got it figgered out to home by algebra, geometry, trig'- 
nometry, astronomy and plain cypherin' that at the present 
rate of growth, Plunket '11 be ready to become a city in 
2506, and we must all remember that we're building for 
posterity, tho' bein' a bachelor, I ain't got any m'self. 
Well, I got to quit. Space — er — er, I mean time — I was 
thinking of my ed'torials in the " Clarion," I guess — for- 
bids me sayin* all the things that fill my heart. But I'm 
awful glad there's such a representative gathering here to- 
day, and when I heard you sing about dear old Plunket, 
my heart just swelled with pride like I did the day I et dried 
apples and then drank ice-water. But I wish to say, and 
with emphatic emphasis, that Plunket is at your service, and 
they've got some pretty fair ice-cream down to the butcher- 
shop, vanilly and some pink stuff, and you're all to have a 
big dish at my expense. (Great applause.} 

Jones. Mr. President. 

Greene. Mr. Jones. 

Jones. I sincerely and verily trust that there will be 
nothing of a theatrical nature in the program to-day. 

Greene {hastily examining his paper). Well, I ain't 
quite sure. 

Jones {severely). If there is I advise you to cut it out — 
ahem, er, I should say eliminate it. I've managed to g^t 
along pretty fair in a big town and I never set foot in a 
theayter. That's how I got ahead, that and bein' honest 
and payin' strict attention to business. 

Reuben Oldchuck. Be ye doin' pretty well daown to 
the city, Joshua? 

Jones {proudly). I own my business and it ain't the 
smallest in {name near-by town) and I own my house, and I 
got a bank account that runs into five figures. 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 9 

Oldchuck. Well, you've dune purty well for a boy. 
Mebbe when you get to the prime of life, you'll be rich. 
Let's see, how old be you, Josh ? 

Jones. I have passed my fifty-fifth birthday, Mr. Old- 
chuck. 

Oldchuck. Well, you're a mere boy yet — lots o' chance 
to climb up the ladder. O' course no one s' young as you 
gets real respons'ble positions. Now, I'm practically ninety 
years old. 

Greene (interrupting). Practically ninety, Reuben? 

Oldchuck. Well, I'm some past eighty ef I remember 
correct. Speakin' about bank 'counts, mine runs up to the 
four riggers, #10.02, and gettin' thirty cents a year int'rest, 
too. I ain't sure whether I'll leave my money fer a lib'rary 
or a orphan asylum. 

Greene. Well, we've got to be gettin' along with the 
program. We will now be flavored by a mus'cal interpla- 
tion by the greatest mus'cal organ 'zation on the face of this 
here earth. Why, I paid one dollar oncet fer a gallery seat 
to a show that wasn't so good as the one they put up 

Jones (interrupting). I hope you didn't go to the 
theayter, Mr. Greene. 

Greene (confusedly). Well, not 'zactly the theayter, 
Mr. Jones. It was a concert. 

Jones (severely). It was in the theayter. A man of 
your char'cter and attainments and position ought to keep 
away from such places. 

Greene. I only went onct. Well, now, we'll hear this 
here quartet. 

(The Plunket Invincible Quartet proceed to the front of the 
platform.) 

Oldchuc& (pointing to Si Hopp). His great grand- 
father and me sung in the church choir oncet together. 

Hopp. Give us the key, Iry. 

Ira Bobberkin (in the band). Here's a hull bunch of 
'em. That one there opens ma's med'cine chest, the big 
one unlocks my gar' age — where I keep my horse. That 
there little one, I can't 'zactly disremember. 

Hopp. Cut it short, Iry. I want a key to sing by. 

Ira. Oh, you want us to play. 

Hopp. That's it. 



10 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

Ira. Let 'er go, boys. 

{Band plays " Yankee Doodle"} 

Hopp. Stop, stop, stop. I don't want a tune. I just 
want a note. Can't you play the scale ? 

Ira. Certainly, Hopperty, hopperty, hop. Play the 
scale, boys. Give 'em about a pound and a half of the 
scale. {Band plays " do-re-mefa") There ye be. 

Hopp. That's not the hull scale; we sing higher up than 
that. 

Ira. Higher up ? 

Hopp. Sure, a lot higher. Twice that high. 

Ira. Come on up, boys. {Members of the band climb 
onto boxes, barrels, etc.) Are you ready? Fire! {Band 
plays " do-re-me fa" again. Ira, triumphantly!) Be 
that high up enough for you ? 

Hopp. You're a woodenhead, Iry Bobberkin. Can't 
you play the hull scale ? 

Ira {excitedly). Who's — woodenhead ? Me ? I'll pound 
all the songs out of your head, Hoppy. 

Hopp. Can't do it. (Hopp and Ira stand facing each 
other in a menacing attitude.) You're scairt. 

Ira. You hit me and you see what'll happen. 

Hopp. Don't you rile me up, Iry. 

Ira. I ain't a-rilin' anybody. I'm the most peacablest 
man in Plunket. 

Hopp. . Not peacabler than I be. 

Ira. You didn't mean I was a woodenhead, did you, 
Hoppy ? 

Hopp. I meant you were level-headed, Iry. {They 
shake hands.) Now, let's have our song, Iry ; strike up 
about the middle of the scale. {The band plays "fa." 
The quartet starts to sing " In the Shade of the Old Apple 
Tree" which Hopp ends in a terrific squeak.) My voice 
ain't what it used to be. I guess I'll have to oil it. 



{Takes out small bottle.) 

What y< 
That' 
thing else 



Ira. What you got'there ? 

Hopp. That's machine oil. Now, boys, let's try some- 



{Sing one line of another old song.} 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET II 

The Other Three. We forget the words. 

Hopp. And I forget the notes. 

Ira. You sing the words and let them sing the notes. 

Hopp. No, we'll try something else, something familiar. 
Let's sing " Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night." 

Ira. No, that's out of date, since this here county 
went dry. 

Hopp. We'll sing it so loud they can hear us clean over 
in the next county. 

Rest of the Quartet. No, let's don't sing that. 

Hopp. All right, then, we'll sing a love song. D'you 
know what love is, Iry? 

Ira. I was quarantined for it for six weeks onct. 

Hopp. Got over it, eh ? 

Ira. Yep, I was cured. 

Hopp. How was that ? 

Ira. I got married. 

Hopp. Let us all — I mean us four — join in singing that 
pathetic little ballad entitled, "He Loved Her But She 
Moved Away." 

{Quartet should sing discordantly.) 

" He loved her 
He loved her 
He loved her 
But she moved away." 

Hopp. Ain't that fine, folks? Now let's have our love 
song. Love, you know, is a tremenjous emotion. I felt it 
m'self but I ain't a-sayin' for who — no, and I ain't going to 
till Mr. Sparsley gives up thinking his daughter's the only 
critter on earth. 

(The quartet should here sing " A Little Bunch of Daisies " 
or some other old-time popular ballad in somewhat gro- 
tesque fashion. Before the chorus, Hopp should say 
"Softly" whereat they should sing louder than ever. 
At the conclusion, the quartet bows profusely.*) 

Greene. Better'n Nordica or the black Patti and nigh 
as good as a phonygraft, say I. 

Mr. U. B. Rich. They ought to go into grand opera. 
I'll form a company and we'll sell shares at ten dollars each. 



12 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

Let's get the Plunket Invincible Grand Opera Company 
started. 

Greene. Friends, that there individual that just made a 
remark in the form of a motion is our old friend U. B. Rich. 
Now, I ain't going to allow a hull lot of speechifying but it 
seems to me that one of the importantest functions o* a 
gathering like old home day is to hear from such as have 
left our midst and come back in 'fluence or poverty as the 
case may be. Just about a stickful from you, U. B. 

Rich. A stickful ? 

Greene {apologetically). There I go again with my 
ed'torial speechifying. I mean a couple of minutes. 

Rich (bowing profusely and speaking in a wheedling sort 
of tone). Dear friends, ah, my very dear friends, I might 
say my very dearest friends, I am delighted to be with you 
again — simply delighted. I only hope the pleasure is 
mutual, yes, indeed, mutual. I am glad to see you all 
looking so well and happy. Yes, indeed, I just love to see 
folks looking happy. 

Jones (abruptly). What line o* business are you in, Mr. 
Rich ? 

Rich {tactfully). My dear sir, in fact all of you, my 
very dear friends, my business in life is this, to give folks an 
opportunity to become rich and happy. I spend a great 
deal of time going from place to place and all for what ? 

Oldchuck. That's what I say, young man, for what ? 
Ye'd ought to stayed right to home. 

Rich. Yes, no doubt you are right, looking at the mat- 
ter from a selfish standpoint. Now, I am always thinking 
of the other man. I am afraid sometimes I am too unselfish. 
Just now I am working on a little scheme that is going to 
make millionaires of some people. I have an option on a 
few thousand shares of stock in a gold mine in Arizona. 
(Unfolds map.) This is our mine. {Points.) There are 
paying mines on both sides of us, and we know that we are 
in the vein of ore. We have dug five hundred feet and 
when we dig six hundred feet, we are certain, we feel sure 
that we will strike ore, good, rich ore, as pure as the air in 
Plunket. Then, my dear friends, these shares will be worth 
one thousand dollars each. And now I can let you have 
them for only five dollars a piece. 

Oldchuck. I'll buy ten shares, U. B., and pay you 
when I sell them for a thousand. 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 1 3 

Rich. My dear Mr. Oldchuck, I am afraid — I am quite 
assured, in fact^ that you do not grasp the point. A little 
later I will explain to you the complete details. 

Greene. How many shares have you bought your- 
self, U. B.? 

Rich (hesitatingly). Ahem, well, that is to say, I must 
confess that I have not purchased any. That is not my 
purpose. I am not seeking to get rich myself. No, indeed. 
That would be selfish and I detest selfishness. I remember 
when I left home, father said to me, " My boy, get rich. 
Get rich honestly, but, my boy, get rich." But my object is 
to help others and as I walk hither and thither among you, 
I hope to have an opportunity to put many of you on the 
road to fortune. Dear friends, dearest friends, I thank you 
for your attention. 

Jones. Mr. President, may I say a word ? 

Greene. Certainly, Mr. Jones. 

Jones (pompously). I want to warn each and all and 
every one against the evils of speculatin\ Be honest and 
pay strict attention to business ! Now, I know all about 
these things. I went down to the race-track once, and I 
lost seventy-five cents, and that has been a solemn warning 
to me ; I have sowed no more wild oats since that time. 
Having been through the mill, I hope you'll remember all I 
tell you. 

Greene. I don't believe in bettin' except on my bein' 
elected village president, and that's a sure thing. {Enter 
Billy, r.) Now, you behave yourself, you little tantrum. 

Billy. Ha, ha, ha, I got to get some fun out of this. 
(Produces bottle from pocket. Removes hand from over 
top.) Ha, ha, ha, look out. 

Greene. What's the matter? 

Billy. Bees ! Look out, everybody. (A wild scramble 
ensues.) There's one. (Points to Jones' coat-tail.) 
There's another. (Points to Miss Jennie Smith's apron.) 

(Everybody should run around brushing the air and Billy 
should keep running from one to another saying, " There he 
is," and " Watch out" After the excitement is all over, 
Billy walks behind Jones and dexterously removes his 
wig, disclosing a bald head underneath. Jones in em- 
barrassment runs to the back of platform, wig in hand.) 

Greene (sternly). Stop your nonsense, boy ; this here 



14 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

ain't no 'casion for such unseemly levity. Ain't your 
parents 'ere? 

Billy. Naw, they're home cannin' tomatoes. They 
sent me to the grocery, but it was shut up so I came over 
here. 

Greene. 'Course it's shut up. This here's a legal holi- 
day — in Plunket. 

Billy. Get up a minute, Mr. Greene. 

Greene. What on airth for? {Rises. Billy deftly 
places Jones' plug hat, which was dropped in the excitement, 
on the seat. Greene sits on hat, then rises abruptly.} 
Mumblypeg, but that makes me mad. If I wasn't a church- 
member and president of Plunket I'd say "Shoot it." 
{Makes a dash for Billy, who deftly places a box in the 
way.} If I ever lay hands on you 

Billy. But you won't, and I'm going now and tell pa, 
and he won't never vote for you again. 

Greene {pretending a kindly tone). Ah, I was only 
joking, Billy. I wouldn't hurt a dear little chap like you. 
Here, Billy, here's ten cents. Buy some candy to-morrow, 
and be sure and come back in time for the ice-cream. 

Billy. All right, I'll be back and I'll bring pa and ma 
and the twins and grandma and the cat — she just loves ice- 
cream. 

(Billy emits a shrill whistle and exits, r.) 

Oldchuck. When I were a boy, I never hearn of ice- 
cream. If I had I wouldn't have the voice left that I've 
got. 

Greene. Can you sing, Reuben ? 

Oldchuck. I can sing better'n half these primmy- 
donnys that get a thousand dollars a night. I don't sing 
bass, nor bar' tone nor tenor, nor nothing. I jest sing the 
air, same's I have for ninety year or more. 

Jones. I thought you was only pract'cally ninety. 

Oldchuck {with assumed dignity). I date my singing 
c'reer back to m* first birthday. I think I sang some b'fore 
that, but I can't 'zactly rec'lect. 

Rich. Possibly Mr. Oldchuck might be persuaded to 
favor us with a selection. 

Oldchuck. I'll sing whether I'm axed to or not, young 
man. {To Ira.) Give me a note, young man. 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 1 5 

{Band plays a note, and Oldchuck sings in a very high 
tremulous voice a verse of " The Old Oaken Bucket." 
Great applause at the conclusion.) 

Greene. I am now about to interduce to you a brand 
new game, as far as I know. It's just out in N' York. 
It's called "Bob, the Artful Dodger." {Arranges the piece 
of canvas and Jack. Black puts his head through the 
aperture.') Now, then, ladies and gentlemen, three throws 
for five cents. If you hit 'em you get a cigar or a glass o' 
lemonade. 

(Rich, Miss Smith, Mr. Frank Lee Slowe, Oldchuck are 
among the first to throw. All the others watch closely f 
waiting a turn.) 

Oldchuck. I'm on the free list, ain't I? 

Greene. There's no free list, Reuben, but I'll buy three 
throws for you. 

Oldchuck. Thanks, Hiram, I've got no change less'n a 
ten dollar bill. {Sotto voce.) And I ain't got that. 

(Oldchuck succeeds in throwing about half way. Miss 
Smith then takes a try.) 

Miss Smith. Do I throw underhand or overhand ? 

Greene. We don't want any underhand work in this 
here prop'sition. 

(Miss Smith tries to throw overhand and hurls one of 
the balls out into the audience. Another hits Oldchuck, 
at which he moans audibly. Miss Smith allows her 
third throw to go by default. Rich and Slowe should 
each throw with measurable accuracy ', but Jack deftly 
dodges each time.) 

Jones. I don't like this here performance at all. It 
savors too much of the theatrical, and gets a man away 
from strict attention to business, but just to add to the fund, 
I'll buy three throws. (Jones should throw accurately but 
Jack dodges well.) Give me three more. I'll hit him yet. 

{Again he fails.) 

Jack {tantalizing). You can't hit me, boss. 



1 6 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKfef 

Jones. Give me a dollar's worth of throws. You watch 
me. {Throws with great rapidity. Enter Billy, r., be- 
hind the Artful Dodger* s screen.) I'll hit that grimacing 
monkey if I stay here till midnight. Give me another 
dollar's worth. 

{In the midst of the excitement, Billy sneaks behind Jack.) 

Jack {screaming). Ouch, ouch, ouch, murder, help! 

{Runs around holding arm as though in great pain.) 

All. What's the matter, Jack ? 

Jack. Somebody stuck a pin into me. Ouch, ouch ! 

Greene. It's that Billy again. Always interfering with 
gentlemen having a little innocent recreation. 

Jones. I want to say, Mr. President, that I don't ap- 
prove of these goings on at all, and this throwing at that 
poor defenseless man is absolutely barbarious. I hope it 
may never occur again. 

Greene. As I was formarily remarkin', this here oc- 
casion wouldn't be a fit and proper Old Home Day 'nless 
we heard from a bunch of the folks. Now I see my old 
friend Frank Lee Slowe over there in the crowd. Come on 
up, Frank, and let's take a look at you. 

(Slowe approaches the front of platform slowly, bowing 
profusely and saluting in all directions with his hat.) 

Slowe {timidly). Howdy, everybody. Gee, it do seem 
good to get back to Plunket. I never said a word agin 
Plunket to man, woman or child or other domesticated or 
wild animal. You remember a year ago, I left here and 
went down to the city. I'd like to be back right to home 
in Plunket. It fits me better, biffed if it don't. I guess I 
ain't fast enough for a big town. Wrong kind o' inner 
working to make me step up lively like them city folks do. 

Jones {interestedly). What town did you go to, Mr. 
Slowe? 

Slowe. I went to {name near-by small town). I 
don't seem to fit in somehow. I can't make my way 'round 
their busy streets. You try to cross the street and first thing 
happens one of these here autymobiles goes "honk, honk " 
right back of you and scares y' out o' your wits and you 
jump to get out o' the way and most likely step right in 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET I? 

front of a street car or a rig or one of these new-fangled 
motor bicycles that makes a noise like forty circus calliopes. 
And you can't stand still — sure's you do some cop comes 
along and says, " Hey there, move 'long," and if you don't 
move, he'll give you a start. Gee, it's too lively for me. 
I like Plunket. Hello, Sal. 

( Waves hand at a face evidently recognized in the audience.) 

Greene {looking in same direction), I'll 'point Sally 
W hopple a committee o' one to endeavor to induce Frank 
to stay to home in Plunket. 

Slowe. Say, biff me, but it do seem good to see you 
folks. Gee, in town I'd walk around during my noon 
hour and I'd scarcely ever see any one I'd ever see before — 
except the cop and delivery boys. 

Jones. I trust you obtained remunerative employment, 
Mr. Slowe. 

Slowe. I don't quite catch what you're alluding at, Mr. 
Jones, but I got a fine position in Finkheimer's wholesale 
store. I 'tended to all the goods that came in and all the 
goods that went out. 

Greene. An important job, I should say. 

Slowe. I should say so ; they couldn't get along 'ithout 
me, 'cause a firm can't do no business if no goods came in 
or went out and I looked after all that. They gave me five 
dollars a week for doing it, and it's pretty close work to get 
'long on that. I paid four dollars a week for board and a 
dollar a week for laundry and car fare and what I had left, 
I spent on my good clothes. {Indicates his costume.) 
Guess that was why I didn't make a hit with the girls — I 
didn't have no money to take them to the show or out to 
swell dinners or anything. One week I took a girl to the 
theayter, only had quarter seats, too, but I had to walk to 
work all week and came near havin' to send to Plunket for 
money. Gee, Plunket's the place. I did run short one 
week when I was off three days because I stepped on a nail 
and they docked my wages. I wrote home for money and 
they sent it to me — sent it to me in two cent stamps. I 
offered 'em to my landlady to pay my board bill, but she 
couldn't take 'em, said she didn't write that many letters in 
her whole life. I tried to sell 'em, but land, everybody 
seemed to think that I'd got some counterfeit stamps or 
something. But one day the boss sent me out to buy some 



l8 OLD HOME DAY M PLUNKET 

stamps and I worked in mine. They were kind o* mussed 
up from carrying 'em a week, but he took 'em. I only wLh 
1 could get a job here and get married and settle down right 
here in Plunket, but I expect I'll have to go back to the citj 

{Great applause.) 

Greene. Frank ought to marry a Plunket gal, eh, 
Sally? 

Miss Smith. She ain't partic'ler. 

Rich. That's fortunate for Frank. 

Greene. We are now going to be flavored by a selection 
by our band. (Band makes preparations, imitating tuning 
tip, and Ira puts on a long-haired wig.) What are you 
putting on that there wig for, Iry Bobberkin ? 

Ira {adjusting it carefully). All us real musicians has 
long hair, Hiram. 

Greene. Now everybody get his or her spectacles on 
straight so's to give good attention. 

(Ira, the leader, ostentatiously climbs onto a barrel, waving 
a small branch of a tree which he uses for a baton.) 

Ira. Let 'er flicker, boys. 

( Waves branch excitedly from one to another. The band 
should start in on "Marching Through Georgia" or 
some equally familiar piece. Ira valiantly waves his 
baton. Band stops suddenly.) 

Bertie Blow. Ouch, ouch, ouch, help ! 

All. Why, what's the matter? 

Blow. Oh, oh, oh, he stuck that stick in my eye. Oh ! 

(Greene examines the injured eye very carefully. Every- 
body else in suspense.) 

Greene. A turble bad case. 
Ira. I didn't go for to do notmV to him. 
Greene. It sure's a turble bad case. Anybody got any 
med'cine round here ? 

{A searching of pockets ensues, but without avail.) 

Miss Smith. I don't suppose this is any good. 

{Passes small package. ) 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 1 9 

Greene. What is it ? 

Miss Smith. It's a corn plaster. 

Greene. It can't do no harm, Jennie. We'll try it. 

(Blow /aces audience and moans piteously while a large 
corn plaster is fitted on his eye.} 

Ira (with concern). Can you play your part, Bertie? 
Blow {heroically). Sure and I'll play it as I never done 
before. 

(The band tunes up again and starts the same tune. Ira 
signals for a pause.) 

Ira. You left a note out, Bertie Blow. 
Blow. It's on the wrong side of my music. I can't 
see it. 

{Band starts again. This time the entire verse should be 
gone through with, winding up in a whirlwind of en- 
thusiasm. Ira should tvave his baton excitedly and 
finally hurl a carrot, taken from his pocket, at one of the 
players who displeases him. Great applause, Ira bow- 
ing profusely.) 

Greene. Ain't our band the fricasseed chicken, though? 
I wish I could afford to have them playing for me all the 
time. 

{Enter Billy, r., bearing ice-cream freezer, which he sets 
on a box and starts eating ice-cream with tablespoon.) 

All. Stop him, stop him. He's got our ice-cream. 

(Billy runs off the platform, bearing the ice-cream freezer 
and trying to eat at the same time. Several should pur- 
sue him, attempting to rescue the freezer.) 

Greene {calmly). Don't be upset, folks — though Billy 
will be, if he eats all that ice-cream. There's more where 
that came from, and all at my expense. {Applause.) 

Oldchuck. That boy's a tantrum. I never did the like 
when I was a boy. 

Rich. Did you ever have any children, Mr. Oldchuck ? 

Oldchuck {meditatively). Well, not exactly what you 
would say m'self, no, but my son, he had a lot of 'em. 



20 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

Greene. It's all in the family, anyway. 

Oldchuck. Well, young folks ain't what they used to 
be — nor old folks neither. Here 'm I pract'cally ninety, 
the oldest man in Plunket ! Why, I can remember old man 
Whiskover. Ef he was livin' to-day he'd be a hundred and 
twenty. That's what I call livin' to a ripe old age, I do. 

Rich. But he didn't live that long, Mr. Oldchuck. 

Oldchuck. He would 'ave, ef he hadn't just happened 
to die, young man. How old are you, anyway ? 

Rich. I'm about forty. 

Oldchuck. I suppose you're in the high school then, or 
will be pretty soon ? 

Rich. No, I'm through school. 

Oldchuck. Hadn't oughtn't to do it. Ef I'd quit 
school, where'd I 'ave got my learning ? 

Greene. At this point in our ceremoneals, we are to 
have the priv'lege — I say it advis'dly — of listenin' to Frances 
Speaker, said by some of these here higher critics to be the 
best yellocutionist in the world. She used to live in Plunket, 
and I git her by very special request to come back and help 
us celebrate. 

Miss Frances Speaker. Believe me, my friends, that 
this occasion is one of the most agreeable that has thus far 
marked my career on this mundane sphere. 

{All look up in perplexity.) 

Slowe {aside to Greene). I've been in the city a year 
and I can't translate that. 

Frances. I am thoroughly convinced that the happy 
environment of one's adolescence is never equaled by the 
riper experiences of one's maturer years, and thus I felt a 
certain measure of obligation in responding in the affirmative 
to your honored president's (Greene looks pleased) very 
kindly epistle of invitation. Man — and that term includes 
the gentler sex as well — is a gregarious animal and craves 
association with others of his kind. I shall be glad now 
to acquiesce in your honored president's (Greene looks 
around proudly) expressed desire that I shall interpret for 
you something in the realm of classic literature. 

Greene. Quite so. (Frances should here render some 
■well- selected recitation, with encore if necessary.) I'm now 
goin' to introduce to you a few of the folks that used to 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 21 

live in Plunket and 've come back home special for this 
Old Home Day. That there feller in the store clothes that 
looks kind o' up to date or ahead of it is Iry Swatt, the great 
baseball player. (Ira Swatt bows all around. ) That there 
lady that looks something like a man is Miss Everett Wright. 
She's a reformer, and she's got a hull lot of ideas under that 
derby o' hern, some of 'em pretty good. She's sellin' 
books on some big subject. I don't know 'xactly what 
'tis. 

Miss Everett Wright {coming forward and interrupt- 
ing, with brisk, businesslike air). Municipal Administra- 
tion Problems, a work invaluable to every voter and citizen, 
bound in real morocco, and sold for this month only at the 
low price of— — 

Greene {pulling her back and pushing her down in seat, 
while she continues to talk). There, that will be about all 
to-day, Miss Wright. You're all right, but you're in wrong. 
Now, let's see. {Looks around.) That short, thick-set, 
slender chap is Jerry Lammer, who got as far away as Sack- 
town. Jerry got away to side-step the girls; but he's mar- 
ried and got a big fam'ly, so he might just 's well have 
stayed to home. 

{At this point Miss Wright and Swatt have a heated 
personal encounter, at the conclusion of which Miss 
Wright succeeds in making Swatt retreat.) 

Jones. Separate them, separate them ! This is a very 
important occasion, and fisticuffs are most improper. 

Miss Wright. He disagreed with my views, but now I 
think he will confess his error. 

Swatt. Yep, I was in dead wrong. 

Greene. You shouldn't strike a poor, defenseless base- 
ball player, Miss Wright. 

Miss Wright. I merely asked him to buy my book, and 
he said, " It ain't no good." 

Greene. I ain't much on shows — never was, never ex- 
pect to be. I can't afford it, and I'm too busy, but two of 
our Plunket folks has made a big hit in the line o' shows. 
They used to be Joe Jones and Emma Smith, but land, now 
they call theirselves the great Partling Team — called 'em- 
selves that ever since they ran away and got hitched up. 
They are going to give us absolutely free, gratuitously and 



22 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

without charge, one of their most specialist stunts — just like 
they pay a dollar to see in N' York. 

Jones. Is it something in the theatrical way ? 

Greene. Well now, really — that is, well, I suppose it is. 

Jones. I guess I'll have to go. (Starts, and stops.) 
Still, on second thought, perhaps I had better stay so that I 
may know whether it ought to be stopped or not. 



(Jones should show the liveliest possible appreciation of the 
performance, and should laugh heartily. The Partling 
Team should enter from opposite sides of the platform.) 

Joe Jones. Deah me, ah nevah was in such a fix. Ah 
can't find my way. Deah me, and not a soul in sight. 
Weally, it's most embarrassing. 

Emma Jones. Begorra and phwat's the matter wid axing 
me, Mr. Dudley Dude? 

Joe {surveying her in astonishment). My good creatuh, 
we have never been introduced. My name is Lord Alger- 
non Amblethurst, not that plebeian one you just applied to 
me. I wondah, could you tell me wheah I wish to go. 

Emma. Begorra, I know the town from ind to ind. 

Joe (joyfully). Good ! Gweat luck ! Bah Jove, you 
can tell me wheah I want to go. 

Emma. Well, where? 

Joe. That's it, my good creatuh. 

Emma. Phwat's it ? 

Joe. I thought you might be able to diwect me wheah 
to go. 

Emma. Where do you want to go ? 

Joe. I don't know, my good creatuh. Like a blooming 
hidiot, I lost the paper. I thought maybe you could tell 
me. 

Emma. Ef Oi had no more sense as you have, I know 
where I'd go. 

Joe. Where ? 

Emma. I'd go put me head in the lake. 

Joe. Gwacious, I don't see what good that would do. 
Weally, I had a shampoo, only yesterday. I leave all that 
to my valet. 

Emma. Your phwatee ? 

Joe. My valet — me 'ired-man, you know. A worthless 



OLD HOME DAY IN PWJNKET 23 

rascal ! 'E allowed me to go without me morning bawth 
yesterday. 

Emma. Yisteddy wasn't Saturday. 

Joe. Ah, no, but I say I take only two bawths on Sat- 
urday the same as any hother day. Bah Jove, you're a 
clever girl. 

Emma {indignantly). Don't yez come any of your flat- 
ironing over me. I haven't any money to spare. 

Joe. My good creatuh, I nevah mentioned money. My 
valet takes care of all that. (Emma and Joe sing a duet, 
each singing a verse in the dialect of the character and both 
joining in the chorus. Choose some popular song of the 
moment, with extra verse for encore. Joe, suddenly.) 
Ah, bah Jove, I remember where I want to go. I've got a 
lettah to mail. My valet forgot it. 

{Holds out letter, which has been in his hand all the time.) 

Emma. Here's fifty cents, sor. 

Joe {amazed). Gwacious, my good creatuh, what for? 
Emma {pointing to monocle). To buy another spectacle 
wid, so you can see out of both eyes. 

Joe {alarmed). Gwacious, the creatuh must be crazy. 

{Exit hurriedly, r.) 

Emma. That man needs a guardeen. Oi'll kape me eye 
on 'im. 

{Follows R. Both bow at r. exit.) 

Jones {suddenly stopping laughing). A most reprehen- 
sible performance. I hope there is nothing else of the sort 
on the program. 

Ira {excitedly). My family's Irish, and I tell you I 
don't like to have them insulted that there way. 

Greene. Never mind, folks. It's pretty good fer a free 
show — better'n I could do anyway. 

Jones. It's very, very reprehensible. 

Greene. Well, we got to have something excitin' on 
Old Home Day, when all the folks have come back to see 
how Plunket's gettin' along. We are now goin' to listen to 
the readin' of the Old Home Day poem by the town poet, 
Miss Angelina Appleby. She's writ some first-class stuff. 



24 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

O' course not as good as Browning or John Greenfield 
Whittier or Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but still pretty good. 

(Miss Angelina Appleby bows sadly.) 

Miss Appleby (speaking slowly, with long pauses 'between 
sentences). Dear friends, when I have passed away, 1 know 
that my efforts will be appreciated. Then the critics will 
know that I was one inspired of the Muse and my little 
verses will be bound in gold and white and sold for Christ- 
mas presents. I will now read the poem I have composed 
especially for this occasion. (Recites tragically.) 

How dearly I love Plunket, 
The place of my birth. 
I. love its lanes and meadows. 
It's the best place on earth. 

(Great applause.) 

Greene. That's going to be printed in the next issue of 
the " Clarion," so you can frame it and hang it in the par- 
lor. Now, Angelina, you've been given a anchor. 

Miss Appleby (bowing profusely). You don't know 
what your appreciation means to me. I wilt now recite a 
pathetic little thing. I thought of it while peeling potatoes 
yesterday. I hope you will excuse me if I lose control of 
myself. (Very pathetic tone.) 

The little boy sat on the door-step 

Waiting for father or mother. 
They'd gone. They'd left him alone. 

Just he and his little brother ! 

(All look sad. Miss Appleby hides her face in her hands 
and retires, L. Applause and remarks, "Ain't that 
sad?") 

Greene. Bless my soul, ef there ain't Jennie Smith, 
that ain't said a word ; and she can talk more to the square 
minute than any one you ever see. Come on up front, 
Jennie. 

Miss Smith (coming forward). Well, you see, it's 
been seven long years since I left Plunket, but I guess I'm 
back for good. I went down to Boston and got a job in 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 25 

one of their department stores. I heard tell that beaus 
were as thick as grasshoppers in Boston, and all a girl work- 
ing in a store had to do was to take her pick. But I didn't 
see any, and I'm not so awful partic'lar either. I never 
was finicky about anything. I would have been happy 
with any good man, but I waited seven long years and never 
even got invited out to dinner, to say nothin' about a man 
poppin' the question. I guess I ain't Boston kind, so here 
I'm back in Plunket, and I guess I'll stay. Come up and 
see me, boys. 

(Shouts of * l We will ' ' and applause. ) 

Greene. Friends, marriage is a honor' ble estate insti- 
tuted in the period of man's innocency and reco'nized by 
every church and government in creation — leastways all I 
ever read p.bout, and I'm now in the sixth volume of Up- 
mann's Universal History, and I ought to know. So when 
I see two folks gettin' married, I says to the girl, you're 
lucky. Being a bachelor I don't know what to say to the 
feller. A couple of ex-Plunketers got married a week or so 
ago and they're here on their honeymoon. Escort the 
bride and groom to the front. 

(The band gives an imitation of a wedding march as Hopp 
escorts Mr. and Mrs. Willie Boyd to the front of plat- 
form.') 

Mrs. Boyd. This is my husband. Isn't he a nice boy, 
though? They say marriage is a lottery. Well, if 'tis, I 
won a first prize. You're glad you're married, aren't you, 
Willie? (Boyd nodds a little doubtfully.) We are just as 
happy as we can be. It's just like the story-books say it is, 
and I'm real sorry for the girls who haven't got a nice hus- 
band. 

Jones. Who did the proposing, you or him ? 

Mrs. Boyd. Why, he did, of course. You're absurd ! 
Do you think I would be so unmaidenly ? You did propose, 
didn't you, Willie? (Boyd nods obediently.) He made a 
lovely little speech, and I asked for time to consider it. 

Boyd. Yep. You made me wait a couple of minutes. 

Mrs. Boyd. Why, Willie, you proposed at seven and I 
didn't consent until just as you were leaving. 

Boyd. I know, but by that time w r e had all our wedding 



26 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

trip arranged and everything. Still you know best, my 
dear, I'm sure. 

Mrs. Boyd. Of course I do, my dear. I gave the 
matter very careful consideration, and I decided that it 
would be best to accept. We are going to live in New 
York, and Willie is going to have an office in Wall Street 
and be a broker. 

Rich. He looks broke. 

Mrs. Boyd (tearfully}. Some one is very rude to my 
dear boy, but we don't care, because we're all the world to 
each other and don't care what any one else says. 

Boyd. Except pa. I hope he won't say he's going to 
stop my allowance. Married life's fine. 

Oldchuck (interrupting). I can't exactly remember 
whether I was married three or four times. 

Mrs. Boyd (triumphantly). And you've lived through 
it all. I think woman — poor, weak, delicate, fragile woman 
needs a man's strong protecting arm. 

Boyd. I always believed a woman should obey her 
husband. 

Mrs. Boyd. Yes, I tell Willie what he is to want me to 
do and then I do it. 

Boyd. I advise all of you boys to get married. 

Oldchuck. I'm thinkin' some on it. 

(Boyd turns back to audience revealing sign "Just Mar- 
ried." Great commotion at r., as Hopp and Ira bring 
forward Mrs. Lizzie Schlintzman, struggling vio- 
lently.) 

Greene (calmly). My good woman, whatever is the 
matter ? 

Mrs. S. (angrily). I don't know anything about Plunket. 
I don't want to know anything about Plunket, but I want to 
visit my nephew and his eleven little ones which live in 
Squawket, and I want to get there quick, because I'm ex- 
pected for dinner and Susan Jane has got a New England 
biled dinner all ready and a punkin-pie and it'll get cold 
and they'll be so disappointed, and they'll think I'm killed, 
and it'll be in the newspapers, and they'll be looking for me 
in all the hospitals and everywhere, and here am I tormented 
about something I don't know anything about. What do I 
care about Plunket ! I never heard tell of it before 'til the 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET ^'] 

conductor set me onto the platform at the depot. I know I 
told him Squawket. I guess I know. I'll sue the railroad 
company. A person ought to be paid money for being made 
to get off at Plunket, especial as I said Squawket just as 
plain as anything. 

Greene. Are you sure you said Squawket? 

Mrs. S. I guess I know what I said. I never had such 
a time in all my life. It's disgraceful; it's uncivilized, 
when a poor forlorn old lady can't be allowed to go to 
Squawket without being made to go to Plunket. 

{Breaks down and is led to seat by Miss Smith.) 

Greene. We're now goin' to auction off some of the 
girls for the priv'lege of 'scorting them fer ice-cream — all 
free and at my expense. The proceeds is to go to Plunket 
Old Home Day funds. First, I'm going to auction off 
Emma Jones. Come here, Emma. (Emma goes to front 
of platform.} How much am I offered? 

Hopp. A peck of potatoes. 

Ira. A dozen oranges. 

Swatt. A first-class baseball bat. 

Rich. I'll give a half share in Peanut and Metropolitan 
R. R. 

Greene. I ain't sure which is bidding highest. 

Boyd. I'll bid eleven cents in real money. 

Mrs. Boyd. You come back here, Willie. 

(Boyd retires obediently.} 

Greene. How much am I offered, how much for this 
splendid performer's company to the ice-cream? 

Swatt. I'll give a ball, too. 

Mrs. Boyd. If you do, give me a bid. I love to dance. 

Swatt. I meant a baseball. 

Mrs. Boyd. Oh, I wouldn't attend that kind. 

Greene. How much, going, going, gone to Mr. Swatt, 
for a ball and bat. (Swatt takes Emma by the arm and 
stands at r. during conclusion of auction.') I'm now 
going to auction off Jennie. (Miss Smith comes forward.) 
How much am I offered? How much am I offered for this 
beautiful maiden ? 

Jones. I'll give you a due-bill- for thirty-nine cents, good 
at my special sales. 



28 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 

Blow. I'll give a bushel of turnips. 

Greene. I'll give a bushel and a half m'self. 

Joe. I'll give a pass good at Woods' Theatre in New 
York. 

Greene. I'll give a seat at the Grand Opery. 

Jones {reprovingly). Mr. Greene. 

Greene. I meant to a lecture on perventing Cruelty to 
Animals. 

Slowe. I'll give seventeen cents. 

Greene. I'll give nineteen cents m'self. 

Hopp {aside to Ira). Let's have some fun. He wants 
her. Let's bid up. 

Ira. I'll give four dollars. 

Greene. I'll give four dollars and one cent. 

Hopp. I'll give five dollars. 

Greene. I'll give five dollars and one cent. 

Ira. I'll give ten dollars. 

Greene. Going, going, gone to Mr. Bobberkin for ten 
dollars. 

Ira (in alarm). But I haven't got ten dollars. 

Greene. Shouldn't bid then. It's ten dollars or thirty 
days. I declare martial law and sentence you. 

Ira (pleadingly). But I ain't got ten dollars. 

Greene. How much have you got? 

Ira (examining very ancient purse). Eleven cents. 

Greene. Well, I fine you eleven cents. Give it here 
and I buy the lady's company for five dollars and one cent. 
We will now bid on Mrs. Willie Boyd. 

Hopp. I'll bid a tooth-pick. 

Ira. I'll bid a burnt friefl cake. 

Greene. You're disqualified, sir. 

Rich. I've got a share in a company that failed that I'll 
bid. 

Slowe. I'll give a bag of pop-corn not to have to take 
her. 

Greene. Give us the bag, sir. (Slowe produces a bag 
of pop-corn and hands to Greene.) How much am I 
offered ? (No answer.) Sold to 

Mrs. Boyd. My gracious ! Why don't you bid, 
Willie? 

Boyd. I'll bid four cents. 

Greene. Going— -going — gone to Mr. Boyd for four 
cents, 



OLD HOME DAY IK PLUNKET 20, 

Hopp {pointing to girl in audience). There's the girl 1 
want to bid on, right over there. 

Greene. Bring her up. {The young lady at first re- 
fuses to co?ne, but finally accompanies Ira and Rich who 
go to get her.) How much am I offered ? 

Hopp. I'll give forty-nine cents. 

Ira. I'll give my baton. {Holds up baton.) 

Greene {sternly). You're disqualified, sir. 

Rich. I'll give a share in N. G. Consolidated. 

Jones. I disapprove of the entire performance, but I 
want to contribute something, so I'll bid a dollar. 

Greene. Cash or merchandise ? 

Jones. I'll give a dollar in cash or $3.49 in merchandise. 

Greene. How much, how much ? 

Hopp. I'll give a dollar an' a half. 

Jones. I'll give two dollars. 

Hopp. I'll give two and a quarter, if I have to mortgage 
the old farm. 

Jones. I'll give four dollars. 

Greene. How much am I offered — going, going, gone 
to Mr. Jones for $4.00. 

{Enter Billy excitedly, r.) 

Billy. The butcher says the ice-cream '11 melt if you 
don't come down pretty soon. Come on. 

{Runs out, r.) 

Greene. Well, I guess we had better be going. Don't 
forget a big free b'loon 'scension and par'chute drop this 
afternoon at five fifteen and fireworks to-night at eight. I 
got a dozen four ball roman candles, two gross penny sky- 
rockets and a pinwheel. It's all free and gratuitous. 

{Exeunt all r., those in couples leading the way, except 
Greene and Miss Smith, who linger behind. Band 
strikes up a comic selection and brings up the rear of the 
procession.) 

Miss Smith. Come on, Hiram. Ain't you going to 
have any ice-cream ? 

Greene {shyly). I don't know's I care for any ice- 
cream. 



30 OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNK.ET 

Miss Smith. Oh, go on, Hi, there ain't anything as nice 
as ice-cream. 

{Enter Billy r. as though about to call Greene. He 
stops abruptly when he sees the others, laughs, claps his 
hand over mouthy and runs out R. Reenters during 
next speech, with Ira and Hopp. They all stand smil-> 
ing at Greene and Miss Smith, who are unconscious of 
them. Billy runs out, r.) 

Greene. There's one thing nicer. 
Miss Smith. What's that, Hiratn ? 
Greene (softly). Love, Jennie. 

Miss Smith. Oh, laws, I don't know anything about 
that. 

{Enter, unobserved by Greene and Miss Smith, Billy, 
followed by all the others, by twos and threes. They 
group themselves at back of stage, motioning to each other 
to keep quiet, laughing, pointing to Miss Smith and 
Greene, etc.) 

Greene. Can't I learn you, Jennie? 

Miss Smith (blushingly). Oh, land, I don^t believe you 
know. 

Greene {boldly). You learn me and I'll learn you. 

Miss Smith (shyly). We might .try, Hiram. 

Greene. Hurray ! (Tuts his arm around her.) 

All (coming forward). Hurray ! Congratulations ! 
Glad ye got her, Hiram ! Good for you, Jennie ! etc. etc. 

Miss Smith (hiding face on Greene's shoulder). Oh, 
Hiram ! 

Greene (laughing). Never mind, Jennie. I don't care 
if you don't. What's the odds? They'd all know it in a 
few hours, anyway. But to think, Jennie, you went away 
off to the city for a man with me waiting here for you all 
the time. 

Miss Smith. You never told me, Hiram. 

Greene. Guess I didn't, Jennie. I'm awful forgetful. 
Guess I'll write it down in my mem'randum book. (Tro- 
duces greatly mutilated paper-covered note-book.) What 
day will we make it, Jennie ? 

Miss Smith. Put down any day you like, Hiram. 



OLD HOME DAY IN PLUNKET 31 

Hopp. Hurray for Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Greene. Now 
then, hip, hip. 

All. Hurray, hurray. 

Greene. Thank you, friends. At any rate there will 
he two of us who will always have good cause to remember 
'• Old Home Day at Plunket." 



CURTAIN 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 






Practical Elocution 




By J. W. Shoemaker, A. M. 

300 pages 

Cloth, Leather Back, $1.25 

This work is the outgrowth of 
actual class-room experience, and 
is a practical, common-sense treat- 
ment of the whole subject. It is 
clear and concise, yet comprehen- 
sive, and is absolutely free from 
the entangling technicalities that are so frequently 
found in books of this class. 

Conversation, which is the basis of all true Elocu- 
tion, is regarded as embracing all the germs of 
speech and action. Prominent attention is therefore 
given to the cultivation of this the most common 
form of human expression. 

General principles and practical processes are pre- 
sented for the cultivation of strength, purity, and 
flexibility of Voice, for the improvement of distinct- 
ness and correctness in Articulation, and for the 
development of Soul power in delivery. 

The work includes a systematic treatment of Ges- 
ture in its several departments of position, facial 
expression, and bodily movement, a brief system of 
Gymnastics bearing upon vocal development and 
grace of movement, and also a chapter on Methods 
of Instruction, for teachers. 

Sold by all booksellers, or sent, prepaid, upon re- 
ceipt of price. 

The Penn Publishing Company 

923 Arch Street, Philadelphia 




.NOV 16 1910 

iSE!L2 F CONGREsT 



Do you want to be an Orator 

Do you want to be a Teacher 
of Elocution 

Do you want to be a Public 
Reader 

Do you want to improve your 
conversation 

Do you want training in Physi- 
cal Culture 

Do you want to increase your 
power in any direction 



A CATALOGUE GIVING FULL INFORMA- 
MATION AS TO HOW ANY OF THESE AC- 
COMPLISHMENTS MAY BE ATTAINED 
WILL BE SENT FREE ON REQUEST 

The National School of 
Elocution and Oratory 

Temple Building Philadelphia 




